Adjustments

Adjustments 4

Noah

My God what's wrong with this girl! I offer to buy her coffee and she won't even tell me her name! I can't show her my anger. I walk inside with her and stand in line. I see her shivering in her drenched sweatshirt and start to take off my jacket to put it on her. But I stop myself because that would be weird and I realize that my jacket is wet too. Instead I ask her:

"What did you order?"

"A soy latte with two shots of espresso." She answers. Her voice is so soothing, yet I hear her breaking inside. Something's wrong. I'm not going to stop until I know what it is.

I order her drink and a black coffee for myself. As we wait for it to come out, I look at her. I can't help but stare. Now that I can see her clearly, I see her eyes are red. They look sore from crying. I look down and see the red stain that was once quarantined in one spot has spread throughout almost her entire arm.

The drinks arrive at the counter top. She moves her arm to grab it but winces.

"I got it." I say taking the drink and sitting at a booth.

"I really have to get home." She says, holding her arm.

"Not until you tell me your name." I say as I gesture her to sit with me. She looks down and sits across from me.

"Tell me yours first."

"Noah Anderson. Your turn."

"Sarah." She says, looking at me as if to be angry. Then she suddenly changes emotions, regretting that she told me her gorgeous name.

"Last name." I say, looking stern.

"DiCarlo."

"Now was that so hard?" She looks down and doesn't respond. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"So we do have something in common." She looks up at me. I want to fix her arm. It kills me to know that she was in pain even though I only know her name and age. When she looked up at me, she looked scared for her life which stunned me.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Are the words that poured out of my mouth like the water falling from the sky. I feel her looking into my eyes. She sighs as if relieved.

"Sarah, if I tell you something about me, will you tell me something about yourself?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I honestly don't know." She looks down again and takes a deep breathe. "Actually, I do want to know why you always look down."

"Are you going to tell me about yourself or what?"

"Okay. I'm nineteen. I'm an only child with a single mother... I have a sudden interest in the girl who spilled her soy latte with espresso on me." I say looking straight into her eyes. "Your turn." I say. She's hesitant. I bet she thinks I'm one of those stalkers from movies who acts like he likes a girl and then kidnaps her.

Sarah

I am so terrified. Is this guy going to kill me? I never trusted men and I really don't trust this one. What am I doing? I should just get up and leave.

"Sarah?" He says. I look up at him. I feel as if I'm falling deep into an enchanted spell.

"Right... umm..." What do I tell him?! "I'm nineteen," You said that already, stupid! Something else! "I grew up in the city and moved upstate a few years ago." Yeah! When my mother died and my alcoholic father got fired from his job.

"Anything else I should know?" He says.

"No." I say. He just looks at me. Why is he looking at me? I break the awkward stare and look down.

"Why do you do that?" He asks. I look at him in confusion.

"Do what?"

"Look down whenever I talk to you!" I don't respond. I just look at him. "I get it." He continues not breaking his stare. "You're afraid of me. You're afraid of getting attached to someone. More importantly you're afraid of men because something tragic happened in your life or is still happening in your life. You lack self-confidence and hide your emotions."

How the hell does he know that? And more importantly how dare he say that!

"How dare you say that to me!" I say in a rather loud tone.

"So I'm correct!" He says with a smile. I just want to smack that smile off of his face.

"No! But how dare you accuse me of something like that!" I find that we are leaning across the table raising our voices at each other.

"Then why are you being so defensive?" He asks. I was silent. Then he decided to continue. "I may have only been eight when my father died, but he was an agent in the CIA and he taught me a lot."

"Died? I thought you said your parents were divorced?"

"I said my mom was a single mom. My father was killed in a car accident."

"I'm so sorry!" I say. He stares me down.

"I can see right through you, DiCarlo. I know you better than you know yourself." I stand up and walk away. I am so done with this creep of a boy!